Feather In A Storm
by CaketinTheHobo
Summary: My take on how an Assassin would work and move in a modern-day environment.


_**Okay, I feel I should give you some info before you commit to reading this. This story was written a few years ago by myself when I considered how an Assassin in a modern-day environment would work. If I recall, it was before the game Revelations was even out, and as such I haven't related it to anything to do with the main AC storyline. Literally, there are no references to anything in the games until, unless you count the shady company that buys everything out.**_  
_**So yeah, this was just me writing out a theory one day.**_

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His name was Ezekiel Jones. Nobody called him Zeke; he was far too powerful for that. He simply was Ezekiel Jones. He was Mr Jones to most. He was Mr Ezekiel to his maid. He wasn't married, so there was nobody to simply call him Ezekiel. And Ezekiel Jones wasn't the type for getting friends.

He was the CEO of a major computer software company, and he sold his top-of-the-range equipment for top prices. Nobody could compete with Ezekiel Jones and his company. In the business underworld, Ezekiel Jones was known simply as "The Man". If you owed The Man, you were in trouble. The Man was everywhere, The Man knew where you lived and where you slept at night, he knew who you were married to and who you wanted to be married to. And if you owed The Man, any one of those might have to pay The Man for you. A daughter was a particular favourite for Ezekiel Jones to take.

However, like all, The Man was flawed.

Ezekiel Jones was a creature of habit.

He got up early, at 6:00am sharp, and had a coffee prepared by his maid. He never ate in the mornings, and he oversaw the preparation of the coffee himself. He was a powerful man and he knew powerful men had enemies. He then left the house at 6:30am, accompanied by a small entourage that was his security team. He walked to work – he didn't want it to be said that The Jones Syndicate harmed the environment. Especially in times like this. As much as he liked walking to work, he knew his security team hated it. A walking target was easy to take down – at least in a car they had a minor protection from a sniper or a passer-by. So Ezekiel Jones followed the same route and the same routine, monitored by his team all the way there. At 6:45am he stopped off at a cafe to pick up his lunch and another coffee – someone had once said that Ezekiel Jones drank coffee like an alcoholic drank vodka – before walking to his office, arriving at 7:00am exactly. He then wouldn't leave the building – which had the best security in the world, to rival government buildings and casino vaults - until 3:00pm, where he would walk home. If he went out at night, he would take a car, which was much easier for his security team to handle.

The Jones Syndicate specialised in computer software. They provided everything, from the lowest computer to the highest grade software used by the government. Nearly all of the public had a Jones Computer, in one way or another. The public didn't know that The Jones Syndicate had bought out Apple and Microsoft years back for a reasonable sum. Although they didn't advertise it, The Jones Syndicate controlled everything. The Jones Syndicate had eyes on everything.

But someone had had eyes on The Jones Syndicate for a while now. Ezekiel Jones' number was up. At the risk of sounding clichéd, _someone was going to stick it to The Man._

The security team might have been good, but the he was better. While they had followed Ezekiel Jones, he had followed _them_, moving unnoticed through the city streets. While Mr Jones collected his coffee, he had sat in the corner and watched. When they had entered the Jones Building, the man watched and waited until he left. He had noted the security detail, the snipers watching, the counter-snipers watching them. He had counted the men, watched their habits, their weaknesses.

Attacking the Jones Building would be pointless.

Attacking the house would be massacre.

He would have to do it while Mr Jones was heading to work.

The day was like any other day. Ezekiel Jones was up at 6:30am. He made his coffee while his security team scouted the route to work and set up their snipers and counter-snipers on various rooftops along the route, the same as every day. A creature of habit is easy to predict. And therefore those looking after Ezekiel Jones had gotten lazy. Nobody had tried to attack the man, if they had then his security had stopped them before Mr Jones even knew he was under attack.

On that day, however, someone else was on the rooftops. And before Ezekiel Jones had left his house that morning all the men assigned to the rooftops no longer proved a problem. When their bodies were found later that day, it was discovered that they had not even had time to call for help – they hadn't even moved from their original sniping positions. Whoever had killed them had done it completely undetected.

Ezekiel Jones left his house at 6:30am, as usual. It had rained the previous night, the streets were damp and there were fewer people out – not that many were about at this time anyway. Those who were hurried past the group, trying to escape the rain that threatened to fall at any moment.

In the distance, thunder rumbled – a hint of what was to come.

In the coffee shop, the heavens opened while Ezekiel Jones was purchasing his lunch – today was a cheese and ham sandwich. He looked out the window, watching distastefully while he sipped his drink.

"I hate the rain," he said to one of his guards. "Means less people go out and buy my merchandise."

He left the coffee shop, walking quickly through the downpour. Lightning flashed across the sky.

The security team didn't notice him. Not until the first two men fell. The first thing they became aware of was the sound of the men hitting the floor. Dying.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the scene. Suddenly Ezekiel Jones found himself being bundled along the street, his security team going to radios to contact their sniper support.

But they were silent. As they hurried along the street, heading towards one of their many escape routes – this one being a nearby alleyway, two more men fell, and then another two. The rain poured incessantly down, turning the blood into rivers of red.

They made it to the alleyway, only to find that someone was there. Waiting. They'd run right into the hands of the killer. Lightning flashed again, the knives in the man's hand glinting in the harsh light. He wore jeans, dark blue, and a hooded jacket, which was raised, covering his face. They could only see the bottom half. The man smiled, briefly, before moving as the team got into action.

They fired their weapons at him, but he moved fast, throwing three knives that lodged deep in the throats of the first row of men.

Sirens echoed in the distance, but they were drowned out by the rumble of thunder – and the roar of gunfire.

The man ducked behind a bin, bullets pinging off the steel. The alley was silent for a moment, and the team moved forward, rounding the side of the bin-

To find it deserted. There was nobody there. Instead, they were looking at a door.

The head of the security team wasted no time. "You two, after him. We'll get Jones somewhere safe."

The two left to search for their hooded attacker were nervous. They'd seen what had happened to their colleagues, and they had no desire to end up the same. But they knew their job. They pushed the door open, revealing a darkened staircase. The only way up. They hurried upwards, before pushing open the door at the top. They didn't notice the figure huddled above the doorway behind them, balanced on the frame.

They certainly didn't notice when he leapt off the doorway, hands reaching forward, for their necks.

They only felt the blades enter their throats, silencing them forever. They would live for a few more moments as their windpipes were punctured, struggling vainly for air, but they wouldn't make a sound. They could only watch as the man stood, the blades retracting back into the bracers on his wrists.

Ezekiel Jones had three men left. The head of his team, and his two best men. Surely these three would be able to protect him.

He knew who was after him. It had only been a matter of time before one of them had come.

They saw him immediately, walking calmly towards the group, unperturbed by the ever-louder wail of the police sirens. They pulled their guns up, taking aim at the man, before one lost his nerve and bolted. He had no desire to end up like his companions. The hooded man let him go. He wasn't concerned with anyone else. He was here for Ezekiel Jones.

The man's flight distracted the other two for a moment, allowing the man to close the distance further. Before one had a chance to react, the man had pulled him in close, breaking his wrist and disarming him. He then fired at the remaining armed man, shooting him in the chest.

He dropped the man with the broken wrist, too, before turning to Jones.

"This won't do anything," Jones said, taking a step back. "You won't change the system; you won't save your precious people."

The hooded man stopped for a moment, looking up at Jones, who stopped, for the first time seeing his attacker's eyes. They were eyes that told you they would be the last thing you saw.

And indeed, they were, as the man stepped close and stabbed Jones in the throat with one of the retractable blades on his wrist, the mark of his kind.

"You will pay, Assassin," he managed to choke out, before falling to the ground, blood flowing from his throat.

The Assassin said nothing, instead retracting the blade, and reaching into his pocket for an item. He dropped it onto Jones's body, before turning and walking out into the street, his figure disappearing amid the rain.

The eagle feather fluttered in the breeze, the only moving thing left in the alley as Ezekiel Jones breathed his last breath.

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_**A/N: As I said, no direct affiliation to the main AC storyline at all. And there won't be any more, this was just a oneshot I wrote one day. Perhaps I'll write a full AC fic one day...  
Hope you enjoyed it!  
Oh, and if any of you are interested, the title is taken from a song by Seth Lakeman.**_


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